


Just Keep on Dancing

by roktavor



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Crushes, Dancing, Diners, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Late at Night, Motorcycles, Slice of Life, Sneaking Out, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-20 04:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17615474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roktavor/pseuds/roktavor
Summary: The night air is cool on Amara’s face, it smells fresh and inviting, like adventure and promises. And her best friend is down there, grinning like it’s totally normal to come calling to hang out at one in the morning.She’s missed this.





	Just Keep on Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I realize this fandom is kinda dead but I love this ship,,,

Amara wakes up to the sound of fireworks bursting outside of her dorm room window. Her first thought is that she couldn’t possibly be hearing right, because Jubilee isn’t due back on campus for another few days – so she rubs the sleep out of her eyes and sits up, trying to defog her mind.

There’s a small, bright light that flies up into her view and hovers there for a moment, before tapping against the window and exploding into even smaller lights in a puff of smoke. Not exactly fireworks, but pretty darn close; it sounds like distant fireworks on the far horizon. By the time it happens again, she knows exactly who it is outside trying to get her attention, and it makes her heart jump.

Kicking off her covers, Amara scrambles out of bed and over to the window. She hauls it open and looks down, unable (and unwilling) to suppress a smile. “Tabby!”

In the middle of forming another mini-bomb, golden light dances between Tabby’s fingers for a moment before it snuffs out. “Hey, girl!” she greets, matching smile in place as she copies the whisper-shout tone. “Came to see if you wanna hang – s’been a while.”

Ordinarily, Amara might be a bit peeved on missing out on sleep – on a _school night_ , no less – and even more worried about getting caught but…Tabby’s right. It _has_ been a while.

The night air is cool on Amara’s face, it smells fresh and inviting, like adventure and promises. And her best friend is down there, grinning like it’s totally normal to come calling to hang out at one in the morning.

She’s missed this.

“Sure,” Amara says, “just let me get changed. I’ll be right down!”

Tabby gives her a thumbs-up in response, looking more excited by the second. Amara knows how she feels, because there’s just something exhilarating about breaking rules and palling around – which maybe means Tabby’s a bad influence on her, but she doesn’t really mind.

Eager to get going, she tugs on her favorite jeans, swaps her pajama shirt for a cute tank top, pulls her zip-up hoodie off the back of the desk chair, and hooks her fingers around the straps of her platform sandals. Back at the window, she tosses her shoes down to Tabby, who dutifully catches them.

Then it’s time to make the make the not-so-treacherous climb down the trellis under her window (Tabby’s always said she was lucky to get such an “easy access” room). The vines tickle her heels, and just like every other time, she swears she’s finally gonna break the thing – but Amara makes it to the bottom unscathed as per usual.

“Here ya go,” Tabby whispers, passing Amara her sandals. She stands still and sturdy, letting Amara lean on her as she slips the shoes on one at a time. “You’re gettin’ pretty good at climbing that thing.”

“Practice makes perfect.” Amara lets her hand slip off of Tabby’s shoulder as she straightens up, stomping her left foot against the ground to force her sandal the rest of the way on. The platforms make her a good couple inches taller, and suddenly Tabby’s face is a lot closer.

Tabby’s still got that grin on her face, and it even widens when she laughs at the comment. “Good point,” she says, “let’s get goin’ then!” She grabs Amara’s hand and drags her off towards the gate.

“Where are we going?” Amara whispers, careful to redirect them out of the sensor range of any booby traps. (Sure, they’re good protection but they’re a real pain when it comes to sneaking out.)

“You’ll see!” Tabby winks at her, still somehow in front of Amara despite not being the one leading the way out. “It’s a surprise. You’re gonna _love_ it, though!”

Shaking her head, Amara trots dutifully along with a wry smile. When Tabby says that, she’s usually got something really off-the-wall planned. Something borderline illegal, even. Some real Bayville Sirens level stuff. A plan for the night that is sure to test the limits of –

“Is that a _motorcycle_?!”

They’re out of the gate, now, Tabby busy closing it as quickly and quietly as she can before rushing back over into the shadows where Amara is. She’s practically vibrating with excitement, all smiles and wind-tussled hair.

“Yeah, isn’t it the coolest?” Tabby enthuses, running her hands down the sleek body of the machine. “Nabbed it from the garage.” Her faux leather jacket and torn up jeans look perfectly at home alongside it, even if they’re mismatched with her worn out sneakers and colorful halter top.

Something about that explanation drags Amara out of her dazed staring. “Wait. You mean _the school’s_ garage?”

“Yep!” Tabby cracks her gum as she fishes a pair of fingerless gloves out of her pocket. She really is going for the biker babe look, then – not that Amara is really complaining, but –

“That’s Wolverine’s motorcycle!” She’d rather not get stuck with one of his detentions, all for the aesthetic.

Tabby, however, has no such qualms. (In fact, she rarely has any kind of qualms about much of anything, which Amara finds both annoying and intriguing.) She waves her hand dismissively and shrugs one shoulder. “We’re just borrowin’ it,” she says, “and he doesn’t even have to know.”

“But Tabitha,” Amara groans, letting her shoulders and eyebrows droop to show her disappointment, “if he finds out, I’m _dead_.”

“I told you: he won’t find out!”

“Easy for you to say….”

When Tabby laughs, she snorts, and her wide smile shows off a dimple by the corner of her mouth. “C’mon Amara,” she says, giving brown hair a playful tug, “just trust me.”

Amara knows that she’s no match for Tabby’s charm. She still can’t even tell if the other girl is doing it on purpose, or if it’s Amara’s own weakness of character that lets her get sucked in so easily. “Fine,” she says, after a pathetically dismal amount of consideration.

“Yes! That’s my girl.” Tabby pulls her into a brief hug, and then lets the hand that was around Amara’s back trail down her arm to entwine their fingers again.

Amara offers a smile in return, and squeezes the hand in hers. “If we get caught, you are _so_ taking the fall, though.”

“Hey, you went along with it eagerly!” Tabby protests, still blatantly giddy. “Y’can’t just throw me under the bus like that,” she says, leading Amara closer to the motorcycle. She throws a leg over it, dropping Amara’s hand in the process.

“Can and will,” Amara says, crossing her arms. Faced with the prospect of actually _getting onto_ the motorcycle, her stomach is (still) a big ball of nerves telling her that this could end very badly – but that’s part of the thrill of hanging out with Tabby. Really, she wouldn’t trade that feeling for the world.

Apparently having noticed her hesitation, Tabby turns to look at her. “What’s’a matter?” she asks. She’s got a pair of orange tinted riding glasses pushed up on her forehead, further messing up already-messy blonde hair.

“Do you even know how to drive that thing?” Amara wonders, taking half of a step back. “I mean, motorcycles are kinda dangerous, aren’t they?”

Unconcerned, Tabby just flashes another carefree grin. “No worries, I’ve done this before.”

“Do you have a liscence?”

“That only matters if we get pulled over!”

Amara shouldn’t do it. She really, really shouldn’t. If it was Lance’s Jeep that would be one thing, but this…this is….

She steps forward and straddles the bike, sitting behind Tabby. “Tabby, if we get pulled over, I _swear_ ….”

There’s that gleeful laugh again, though, and Tabby faces forward, pulling her (probably also “borrowed”) glasses down over her eyes. “We won’t! No cops anywhere this time of night, girl.”

“Uh, yes there are! In fact, I think they patrol more at night, especially around here.”

Ignoring any protests, Tabby punches the ignition and revs up the motorcycle as it rumbles beneath them. On reflex, Amara’s hands fly to the waist of the girl in front of her.

“Helmets!” she shrieks, suddenly remembering just as Tabby starts to inch them forward.

Tabby drops her feet, stopping their progress before it even really starts. “Aw, Amara,” she almost whines, “don’t you wanna feel the wind blowing through your hair?”

“Excuse me if I’d rather not feel the _road_ blowing through my _skull_ ,” Amara fires back.

The banter is good for her nerves, but not as good as when Tabby sighs and leans back against her to fish through one of the saddle bags. All too soon she sits back up, pushing a helmet into Amara’s hands. It’s not one of the big, fancy ones with the face visor and full coverage – but it’ll protect most of her head at least. She straps it on without complaint, nodding at Tabby, who turns back around with a smirk.

“Better?”

“Much.”

“Then let’s go!” Tabby spits her gum off to the side of the road somewhere and powers up the motorcycle again.

“B-but Tabby, what about your helmet?” Amara asks, hands frantically making their way back to Tabby’s hips in their haste to hold on.

“I told ya,” Tabby says, revving the engine, “I like the wind in my hair!”

And then she takes off properly, and Amara’s protests about her safety are snatched by the night air as it whips around them.

Despite her earlier (and current) misgivings, the motorcycle really is downright _amazing_. The lights of Bayville blur past them as they go, and they’re surrounded by so much…nothing. There’s no barrier between them and the outside world – it’s an undeniably freeing experience. Nearly as free as Tabby herself, Amara thinks fondly every time the girl lets out an excited whoop.

She’s so sure that they’re going to get pulled over, but eventually the nighttime breezing past distracts her from all of her worries.

The wind gets to be too much on her eyes – she understands why Tabby wore the safety glasses, at least – so she squeezes them shut. As much as she’d like to take in the scenery, she can’t take the stinging, and anyway, there’s something exhilarating about not being able to see where they’re going.

It’s also harder to keep her balance, though, and she winds her arms tighter around Tabby’s waist. Turns out her halter top is also a midriff, so Amara shouts an apology when her icy fingers brush the warm skin of Tabby’s abdomen. Still, Tabby just laughs. This close, Amara can smell her knockoff perfume and the leather of her jacket, even amidst all the wind.

All too soon, the motorcycle slows to a final stop, and Amara blinks her eyes open. They’re idling in the parking lot of a retro 24-hour diner, Amara’s ears ringing at the absence of noise as the rumbling of the bike cuts off when Tabby parks it.

“Did ya like it?” Tabby asks, pulling the riding glasses off of her face as she twists around in her seat. She’s close enough still that her hair brushes Amara’s face as she goes.

Belatedly, Amara realizes that she still has her hands on Tabby’s waist. She makes no move to change that just yet. “It was amazing!” she admits, feeling a smile pulling at her cheeks.

Tabby grins to match hers. “Knew you’d love it!”

There’s a brief moment of charged silence – Tabby is just so _close_. Vibrant and alive and free and beautiful. And Amara wants to kiss her. She thinks she just might break every self-imposed rule about not acting on this crush and do so, especially when Tabby giggles and bites her lip.

The mood is shifted when Tabby nudges her, though.

“C’mon,” she says, “get that helmet off and let’s get food – I’m absolutely _starved_.” Tabby turns back around and stands up off the bike. “That Brotherhood house is huge, but they never have any decent grub.”

Amara gives a half-hearted huff of laughter, equal parts miffed and relieved that Tabby moved away instead of leaning in. Her emotions swirl around even more when Tabby offers her a hand getting off the motorcycle, and they definitely don’t come close to settling down as Tabby continues to hold her hand all the way inside.

“I just love it here,” Tabby gushes as they walk through the doors. “It’s so out of the way and quiet, y’know?”

It does look like Tabby’s kind of place, although a little less lively than her usual haunts (Amara chalks that up to it being around two in the morning). What with the neon décor, the bright red vinyl booths, the overbearing scent of fried food, and _especially_ the jukebox on the far wall – this is definitely Tabby.

“How long have you been coming here?” Amara asks as a tired-eyed hostess guides them to a table in the corner.

“Since last week,” Tabby answers. She slides into the booth with a single practiced swoop, meanwhile Amara inches in more carefully. “Thanks, Becca,” Tabby says, winking at the waitress as she places menus in front of them.

Despite the late hour and her obvious exhaustion, Becca smiles at that. Amara thinks that you’d have to be an astoundingly bitter soul indeed not to return one of Tabby’s smiles – although she might just be a little bit biased.

It’s also no surprise that Tabby is on a first name basis with at least some of the staff, especially seeing as they wear cute, hand-decorated nametags. And yet. “Just since last week?”

Tabby nods. “Came here a few times for late night snacks. Their pancakes are the _bomb_.” She shoots a thumbs-up at Becca, who grins again and even laughs a bit. (Amara wonders if she knows enough about Tabby yet for her to catch the real joke in there or if she’s just acting flattered on behalf of the chef.) “And I knew you’d love it here, so I wanted to get ya here ASAP – Becca, this is my best girl: Amara.”

Amara can feel herself blush a little at the introduction, the term ‘best girl’ shooting warmth right through her. Thankfully, Becca is professional about it, and if Amara is flushed and Tabby’s grin takes on a teasing edge at the sight, she doesn’t let on that she’s noticed.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, “can I start you off with something to drink?”

-

“Oh my God I _love this song_!” Tabby enthuses, almost like she wasn’t the one who fed the change into the jukebox and selected it herself. “Joan knows what’s up, I’m tellin’ you.”

If it weren’t pushing three in the morning, and if the euphoria of sharing a chocolate milkshake with Tabby wasn’t still buzzing around her, Amara might be more embarrassed by this whole situation. As it is, she’s happily seated on the diner table with her feet on the booth, absently chewing on her straw in the milkshake as she watches Tabby dance.

“You gotta dance with me,” Tabby insists, somewhere among swinging her hips and flipping her hair. She mouths along with the first verse, and sings along with the chorus, way louder than she has any right to be.

Amara shakes her head, Tabby’s straw bumping her cheek. “I’m good.”

“Aw, c’mon!” Tabby twirls around, even though it’s out of place with the heavy rock beat of the song. “It’s Joan Jett. On a jukebox. You _have_ to dance!”

Milkshake down to the last dregs of whipped cream, Amara sets the tall glass down on the table and pretends to consider. “I mean, that’d be true if it were ‘I Love Rock’n’roll’, but this is – ”

“ _I hate myself for loving you_ ,” Tabby sings along, feet gliding over the floor until she’s right in front of Amara. One of her hands is held up to her mouth, clutching an imaginary microphone, and the other is outstretched in a clear show of serenading. “ _Can’t break free from the things that ya do, I wanna walk but I run back to you…!_ ”

“Tabby!” Amara tries to sound outraged, but laughter bubbles up and smothers any chance she had. Tabby’s hand turns beckoning, and Amara shakes her head and tries to wave her away – but Tabby is insistent. Long fingers topped with chipped nail polish wrap around her wrist and tug, and Amara’s hip bumps Tabby’s nearly-finished chocolate chip pancakes as she slides off the table.

Like this, Tabby goads her into just one dance for not even half of a song. “ _That’s_ my girl!” she cheers, using her hold on Amara’s wrist to spin herself.

“You’re something else,” Amara mutters as the song finishes.

Tabby swoops up from her bow with a flourish, flashing a grin at Amara. “You love me though,” she says, “and you had fun, admit it!”

Amara is too busy trying to wrap her head around “you love me” to try and argue (or form coherent thoughts) and so she just shrugs. Helpless as usual in the face of Tabby’s vigor.

“C’mon, let’s do one more song.”

This time, as Amara is dragged by her hand, she digs her heels in. “Tabby, we really should get going,” she says, “there’s school tomorrow, and I don’t want to get caught sneaking out, anyway….”

“Just one more?” Tabby pleads, brown eyes sparkling.

Part of her (just how big a part, she won’t admit) wants to. She wants to stay here, dance the night away with Tabby, and pretend the outside world doesn’t exist.

The other part of her, though, is hyper-aware of the few other customers in the diner, as well as the morning slowly sneaking up on them. She shakes her head. “I’m tired,” as if on cue, her words are split by a yawn, “next time?” Because she would _love_ to do this again.

Tabby looks like she wants to argue, but then she drops Amara’s hand in favor of throwing her arm around her shoulders. “Next time,” she acquiesces, squeezing Amara close briefly. “Don’t think I’ll forget that you owe me a dance!”

-

The journey back to Xavier’s Institute is peaceful – or at least as peaceful as time spent with Tabby can be. By the typical definition, Amara supposes, it’s not. But she finds peace in it, anyway, because the loud energy that is Tabby is uniquely comforting, and yeah Amara’s feeling a little mushy with the late hour.

It’s hard to bring herself to care, though, what with the wind whipping Tabby’s hair in her face and the jovial mood of the ride.

Amara almost wishes that this would never end.

But all too soon they’re pulling up to the school and dismounting the motorcycle, and here’s the harsh reality, with school tomorrow and not nearly enough Tabby. Amara can’t help but drag her feet on the walk up the driveway.

Stashing the motorcycle back where it came from is only a one person job, but she tags along for that as well, not eager to leave Tabby’s side. Especially because Tabby hasn’t stopped smiling and humming to herself once since they got back, giggling every now and then.  It’s thoroughly enchanting, as if Amara’s crush wasn’t bad enough already…

“Last stop,” Tabby says, when they make it to the foot of the trellis, “everybody off.”

“That would’ve made more sense to say as we were getting off the motorcycle,” Amara jibes, feeling a smile tug at her face. Leave it to Tabby to swing a bittersweet goodbye closer to the sweet side.

“Alright then, how about…all ashore who’s going ashore?”

Amara wrinkles her nose and tilts her head, pretending to consider. “A little better,” she acquiesces. There’s a short laugh from Tabby, and then silence. Unless Amara’s imagining things, she might not be the only one who doesn’t want tonight to end – after all, Tabby’s not exactly rushing her inside.

Still, all they’re doing is prolonging the inevitable, and Amara does want to get _some_ sleep tonight. So she bends to undo her sandals, slipping them off of her feet and hanging onto them by their straps for easier climbing.

“Goodnight, Tabby,” she says, giving a small wave and quick grin before turning to mount the trellis. She only makes it up two squares before there’s a rustling beside her, and Tabby’s warmth is brushing her side.

“Think I’ll walk you to the door tonight, girl!”

The idea makes Amara’s stomach swoop more than traversing hills on the motorcycle had. She’s pretty sure she’s blushing, too, but fortunately Tabby’s too focused on climbing to notice.

…Speaking of climbing, Amara has stalled out with her shock, and she better get going before Tabby gets suspicious.

“Metaphorically speaking, you mean?” Throwing in banter will cover her awkward pause no problem, right?

“Yeah,” Tabby laughs, almost too loud in the quiet night, “that!”

They make it up without Amara’s sweaty palms causing her to slip even once, which she considers an accomplishment. Now, though, as she climbs through the window she realizes that this really is goodbye for the night. There’s an awkward sort of pause as she turns around to face the window, and Tabby shuffles close on her knees, crouched atop the trellis.

“Well – goodnight,” Amara repeats, at a loss for what else to say. There are butterflies in her stomach, and there’s moonlight in Tabby’s hair.

“I had fun tonight,” Tabby says, leaning her elbows on the windowsill and resting her chin on a hand. There’s something…different, about the tilt of her smile and the flutter of her lashes. It’s got Amara’s cheeks going pink all over again.

“Me, too.”

“Go out with me again, sometime?” On the question, Tabby tilts her head, and _argh_ she’s adorable and pretty all at once, Amara can’t take this.

The phrasing isn’t helping either, what with the whole “go out” thing and all making tonight sound like a _date_. Is that what Tabby meant this as? Amara’s heart is kicking up a fuss in her chest, but she thinks she had better answer before Tabby thinks she doesn’t want to go out again.

“Yeah – yeah, I’d love to.”

“Super.”

And then Tabby leans up, and plants a kiss on Amara’s mouth.

Amara gasps, a million fireworks going off inside her at once, and Tabby pulls back with a light laugh before reorienting herself and snagging another kiss with a better angle. Her lips are just shy of soft, a little chapped from the wind, but Amara doesn’t mind because it’s _Tabby_ and she’s _kissing_ her and – and –

Amara definitely doesn’t want her to leave now.

All too soon, Tabby pulls away again. At least Amara can now see that she’s not the only one blushing; there’s a faint dusting of pink over Tabby’s cheeks, and she bites her own lip on a lazy smile.

“See you around, ‘Mara,” she says, and then she’s gone, climbing her way down the trellis and traipsing back across the school grounds towards the exit.

Stunned, Amara stands at her open window for a while, fingers ghosting over her lips and gaze focused on where Tabby had disappeared.

What a night.

What an awesome, _perfect_ night.

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to get this posted for Femslash February last year, but didn't quite finish it in time, so here it is this year! Better late than never, right,
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
